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In Torah this week we read the Ten
Commandments. The Tablets of the Law were given in the wilderness of Sinai. It
was a wide open public space. The Law was given in public where everyone was
welcomed to receive it. Why? The Rabbis teach, “In order that the [other] nations
of the world should not have an excuse and say, ‘Because it was given in
Israel’s land; therefore we did not accept it.’” In a public place there was no
exclusive title to God’s Law and no excuse not to embrace its sacred value.

Another
explanation teaches, “To avoid causing disagreements among the tribes.”
Otherwise, one might have said, “In my territory the Torah was given.” Can you
imagine the sense of entitlement that would have been assumed by the tribe in
whose land the Law was given? There would have been no peace between them. Instead,
each of the twelve tribes was given particular roles and responsibilities in
the community.

From
tribal heads to water drawer, God sealed the covenant with all of them. There
they said in one voice, “Na’aseh v’nishmah” we will faithfully obey all that
God commanded. A closer look at their commitment reveals that first they said
“Na’aseh” which means “we will do”. Then they said “nishmah” we will hear
(understand/obey). There’s nothing else in the world we’re permitted to do
before we understand it; not medicine, law, teaching, psychiatry, architecture,
etc. Only at Sinai do we learn that we can participate in God’s Law without
first having to understand all that it means. Therefore, the rabbis concluded,
“The understanding comes through the doing.”

When
a young bride asked what she was supposed to feel when she kindled the Sabbath
lights on Friday night, her rabbi taught, “The understanding comes through the
doing.” Week after week, she understood more about how to increase holiness in
her life when she participated in the commandment “to kindle the lights of
Shabbat.” As she lit the candles, drew her hands to her eyes, made a personal
prayer for her family, and recited the blessing, she felt the presence of her
mother and her grandmother and those who came before them. She was more than
one person who kindled lights on Shabbat. She was every woman who ever kept the
tradition to sanctify the Sabbath day.

After
the death of his wife, a husband asked what difference do the rites of the
burial service and shiva make? The rabbis explained, “The understanding comes
through the doing.” At the graveside, he lifted the heavy shovel in his hand
and placed some dirt into the grave. When shiva ended he recalled the moment at
the graveside when he placed dirt in the grave. He learned that it was the
greatest mitzvah because his wife couldn’t do the same for him nor could she
thank him. Since that day he never had any regrets about how he loved her in
life, how he accompanied her to her final resting place, and how he
participated in closing the grave. Now his only task was to honor her life with
his own.

Judaism
is the pursuit of meaning. But, we arrive at any meaning in life through
participation in life. If we studied everything we needed to know before we
lived it, Judaism would wither. We are commanded to choose life and then to
seek meaning in every encounter. Dr. Eugene Borowitz, world renowned Reform
Jewish theologian, died this past week. In his book “Renewing the Covenant” he
taught, “When we seek God as partner in every significant act we invest our
doing and deciding with direction, hope, [and] worth, and where we fail, we
have the possibility for repair.” Dr. Borowitz’s brilliance is found in his
clarity. “Doing and deciding” come first. “Direction, hope and worth” follow as
natural and obvious contributions of our obligation to a covenant we make with
an unconditionally loving God. We know that God loves unconditionally because
“where we fail” we have the “possibility for repair.”

To
be Jewish means that we come “pre-certified” to perform mitzvot, deeds of
loving-kindness. Torah tells us that the mitzvot are “not so far that you have
to send someone…to get them and bring them back and impart them to you. They
are [already] in your mouth, in your heart, and in your hands [to do them].”

There are few things
that we insist our children and teens attend beyond their favorite movies,
sports, and malls. That’s a shame because there are experiences they should
have that can spark their inner souls and spirits. I have something you should
insist on bringing your children and teens to and it requires nothing but a
promise of dinner to follow.

On Friday evening, 6:30pm in the
sanctuary at Congregation Beth Israel, a must-see, must-hear event is taking
place. A musical Shabbat dedicated to the music of Debbie Friedman. She was the
leading innovator of contemporary Jewish liturgical and pop music who also
modeled Jewish music for generations. Jewish musicians even your kids can name
wouldn’t be where they are doing what they’re doing were it not for the
groundbreaking soulful contributions of music and lyrics that Debbie created. A
gifted, dynamic, soul searching, and spirit lifting individual, Debbie’s music
inspired your rabbis and cantor, too.

To complement the music, Rabbi
David Ellenson, PhD, former President of HUC-JIR, our Reform seminary and
currently its Chancellor, will speak on “Miriam, Debbie Friedman and the Voices
of Women in Prayer”. Cantor Dan Mutlu will put a unique spotlight on Debbie’s
music and lift our souls and our spirits as we “Sing Unto God” a new song.

This is it! Bring your children,
your teens, and your friends. I’m not encouraging you because I’m concerned
about attendance. Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about attendance at our
synagogue services. I urge you to come because this one’s important and your
children shouldn’t miss it. Neither should you. See you there and come
expecting the unexpected with joy on Shabbat at Congregation Beth Israel.

“While we’re living there’s always hope”
(Talmud). To you, it might seem obvious that life equals hope, but such wisdom
is found in Talmud and affirms our Jewish outlook. We learn that life, itself,
is a blessing. There is no original sin in Judaism from which we have to be
cleansed. We were not conceived in sin, nor were we created with sin. In
Judaism, life begins as a blessing. Our only obligation is to thrive in this
world to make a positive difference while we’re here.

Torah
teaches, “Choose Life!” (Deuteronomy). We were created with extraordinary power
to choose. No matter the circumstances placed before us, we hold the power to
choose how to address them. Remember the song, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I
want to”? In the midst of joy there are those who refuse to be happy. In the
midst of tragedy there are those who feel delight rather than sorrow. We’re not
supposed to repress feelings or pervert them into something that they’re not.
We’re commanded to feel all of life’s moments and find meaning in them.

When
a young man was called to the Torah as a bar mitzvah in his 30’s, it was a
moment celebrated by him and his family with his rabbis and cantor. Though some
might ask why he did it, it wasn’t a question that required an answer. It was a
moment he chose to create long after his 13th birthday passed. For
him, he chose life when he recognized the opportunity before him and he
mastered it with understanding and joy.

This
past week, I officiated at a funeral. We mourned the death of a beloved
personality, but after experiencing grief it will become our obligation to
honor his life with our own. There will always be those who fail to truly live
after a loved one dies; but, that’s not what we’re commanded to do. The mitzvah
to mourn should be followed by the mitzvah to “Choose Life!” again.

“While
we’re living there’s always hope” is especially poignant in the hospital. Too
often I’m asked if all is lost or if there’s anything more to do. I’m not a
doctor, so I can’t honestly answer questions that require a scientific or
therapeutic reply. I’m a rabbi, so I can say that while the patient is alive,
there’s always hope. We find hope in the doctor’s insights and dedication; and,
we find hope in prayers that God’s presence will guide the hands of those who
help in healing.

On
9/11, stranded workers in the Towers believed they had no choice but to jump
from more than 90 floors above the ground. I don’t believe they jumped because
they wanted to die. I believe they jumped because it was their only hope. They
jumped because it was a choice to live if by some means they might be spared
the terrible and ultimate fall. Our profound sorrow is that there was no
probable outcome that they would be spared. The height was too great and 9/11 would
be remembered for its unfathomable pain and loss. Though their choice was
agonizing, the victims of 9/11 demonstrated their will to live and their power
to choose.

Today,
one of the greatest tragedies in our country is the rising suicide rate. Among
veterans the suicide rate is higher than the general population. Ending one’s
life under the impression that no other choice exists is always tragic, but
it’s also mostly preventable. From where does such human despair begin that the
only choice that remains is to end one’s life and with it the possibility of
hope? Does it begin at home where we reward success and punish failure? Does it
happen because we’re reared to be rising-stars and made to fear anything less
as signs of weakness and disappointment? Does it grow out of a lack of
awareness of faith in God? Not perfect faith, but hope that begins in Torah
where feeling commanded by a Commander who implants within us reasons to choose
life might stem the tide of increasing numbers of people who stand on the brink
everyday.

“While
we’re living, there’s always hope.” Make it your mantra this week. Share it
with others who might need to be reminded. In joy and sorrow, alike, we can
find meaning. From meaning, we can choose wisely. May our days be filled with
choices that lead us to greater joy in living a life of peace.

Self-control. We have little problem with
control; it’s the “self” that gets in the way. Taking a cue from a page of
Talmud, we learn, “The eyes and ears are not always dependent on our
will-power; but, our tongue is always dependent on our will” (Y. Kiddushin).

What
we see and hear is generally external to us. We can close our eyes and recall a
beautiful moment or recall a song we love to hear, but sights and sounds
usually originate from somewhere else. Think about a vacation spot or a favorite
song; they’re meaningful to us but we have little to do with them except for
our appreciation of them. Likewise, we can be repelled by ugly sights and
objectionable words. Even when we can’t avoid them, we might have to address
them anyway. If we try, we can beautify something that at first offends our
eyes, or improve the sound of something that begins as dissonant to us.

Different
than our eyes or ears, our tongue is “always dependent on our will.” The tongue
literally says so much about who we are by the words we speak and how we speak
them. Our words aren’t dependent on anything external. Instead, we are completely
responsible for our tongues, no matter how we wag them. Judaism considers as sacred
the words that convey Torah values. It considers hearsay, rumors and gossip to
be the equivalent of desecrating the entire Torah.

One
of the greatest challenges to self-control is a child’s tantrum. A parent’s
reaction is supposed to demonstrate a better way for the child. It begins with
words carefully chosen and spoken. Loud doesn’t equal authority or power. Calm
is a better way to model self-control. A calm parent can show a child how to
navigate his or her way to a solution. And, though our tongues convey speech,
it isn’t always necessary to speak. Silence can also bring a tantrum to a quick
end and guide once misdirected energy towards more productive tasks, even for a
toddler.

Nothing
compares to the feelings we have when we’re in the company of those we love in
our family and circle of friends. Sometimes we’re struck dumb by the
overwhelming emotions we feel in their presence; but other times we seize the
moment to share openly how much they mean to us. While such times are dear,
they are sometimes juxtaposed by discord and it becomes difficult to hold back.

Self-control
is critical if we want to find pleasure at all times. In times of joy, it’s
important to express gratitude. In times of somebody else’s joy, it’s
meaningful to tell them that you’re happy for them, too. But, in times of
disappointment or even anger, it’s imperative that self-control guides our
tongue to find words that help rather than hurt, resolve conflict rather than destroy
relationships, and reflect well on Torah’s way for us rather than desecrate its
potential for good and holiness.

Judaism
recognizes that which is external to us, such as sights and sounds, and that
which is internal to us, such as our words. Judaism doesn’t pretend that sin
exists only outside us like some temptation we can’t bear without God’s help;
rather Judaism claims for us that we’re capable of doing much good and as much
evil. What we choose to do rests in us, in our eyes, our ears and mostly on our
tongues. Self-control isn’t just a modern term for personal happiness; it’s a
Torah value that supports and sustains us in the world we want to enjoy and
with the people we want to love and love us.

As
the week comes to a close and Shabbat begins, it’s a perfect time to draw in a
deep breath and exhale with words of gratitude, hope and peace.